


VENI VIDI VICI

by springburn



Series: Dr Who mini fics and prompts [13]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Fires of Pompeii - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hope, Humanity, Loss and Grief, Love, Peter Capaldi character file, Roman story, Slavery, love and building relationship, master and servant, post Fires of Pompeii, sexually explicit, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Fires of Pompeii, Lobus Caecilius is a lonely and sad man. One day whist wandering through the city, he chances on a slave auction, it changes his life forever.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	VENI VIDI VICI

**Author's Note:**

> This was a wonderful prompt, from @serit_smythe, which I've taken my time over.......
> 
> "..I kinda hate giving you this prompt, but... what about Caecilius meeting Clara? (No Doctor 12 around at all, just Clara, or the Roman equivalent thereof)! ...only... I just can't imagine Caecilius without Metella...."
> 
> So I've taken the prompt as given. No twelve around, (and no Ten), hope you enjoy it!!!

VENI, VIDI, VICI.

The market was bustling.  
Full of sights and sounds and smells.  
Exotic spices from far and wide, silks and cloth, Samian ware plates and dishes, marble, stone amphora filled with olive oil, wine, jewellery and all manner of wonderful things.  
Lobus Caecilius wandered amongst it all, savouring the scents, breathing in the heady mix.  
Metella would have loved this, he mused. She always enjoyed the bartering, the fun of the haggle.  
He suddenly felt very melancholy.  
How he missed her, his lovely wife, even now, two years after she'd been gone.  
Still raw, still painful.  
Saved from the Fall of Pompeii, only to sicken and die a year later.  
It happened all the time, he knew, but for it to happen to him......

He picked his way through the narrow alleyways, discarded and squashed fruit under his sandals, the detritus of a stall nearby.  
Coming out at the Forum, he could see a slave auction, just about to begin. 

The poor unfortunates were herded onto a dais, to be viewed by the great and the good.  
Wealthy Romans, jostling each other for a better look.  
There were all kinds, from all over the corners of the Empire and beyond.  
From coal black Nubians to golden haired Danes. Men and women, boys and girls. Separated into age and gender.  
Celts and Visigoths, some tattooed and plaited. Dark and mysterious Africans, with a beauty all their own.  
As his eyes scanned the motley group, chained together in a caterpillar line, with haunted and anguished expressions, his gaze came to rest on one in particular.  
A Celtic girl. Of maybe twenty-five winters, or possibly more.  
Small and slight, with brown hair and dark chocolate eyes.  
Whilst the other captives had fear and loathing in their eyes, this girl held her proud head erect.  
Little, but defiant.  
Almost challenging.  
Caecilius was instantly captivated. 

What horrors had this young woman seen? What pain and degradation had she endured?  
To be standing there today, manacled and subdued.  
A commodity, to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. 

At that moment, the auction began.  
Much shouting and gesticulating commenced, as the purchasers vied to outbid each other, to acquire the strongest, the fittest, the youngest, the best potential workers.  
A few of the women and young girls were obviously familial, they wept and cried out, as they were separated from their offspring and led away.  
Before he even gave conscious thought, he raised his hand to bid, indicating the Celtic girl.  
Her eyes locked with his.  
For a moment he thought she would spit at him, but perhaps she thought better of it.  
650 denarii.  
"Done!" The auctioneer handed him a token, and he paid his money. 

She was his. 

oOo

"This is your new home. You are welcome here. I will show you where you are to sleep."  
An elderly manservant led her across a sunny verandah, which ran along the back of the villa, separating the house from the servants quarters and stables at the rear.  
The girl rubbed her sore wrists and ankles, where the chains chafed the skin. 

Later she was allowed to bathe, was given clean clothes, something to eat and drink, and was then taken to be presented to her new master. 

Caecilius was seated at a lacquered table, a cup of wine in front of him.  
Reading some papyrus documents, marking off orders for marble from new clients.  
His brow furrowed with concentration.  
Pausing, he looked up, pensive, as she was shown into his presence. 

"Ah! You look better!" He remarked, with a slight smile.  
"I hope they have looked after you."  
The girl bowed her head stiffly, but did not answer.  
"What is your name?" His voice was soft, kindly, but she still regarded him with an air of thinly disguised disdain.  
"Kiara." Her answer was sharp, almost vicious.  
He pondered for a moment.  
"Ah!" He replied eventually, " Britannic. In Latin that would be Clara......meaning clear and bright. I like it, it's a good name for you."  
Again the girl refrained from comment.  
"I am Lobus Caecilius. Marble Merchant. I have several servants here, but none of them slaves. They work for me because they wish to, not because they must. You are free to stay or go, as you wish."  
Clara's face registered genuine surprise, and puzzlement.  
"But I'm bought and paid for......" She began.  
"Yes! And now you are free. I hold no one against their will. It is wrong and I do not believe in it."  
A tear sprang in the corner of her eye and her proud head drooped.  
"I have nowhere else to go."  
"Then stay. You will be taken care of. I will look after you."  
She fell at his feet then, with a sob, kissing his hand fervently, holding it against her wet cheek.  
"Thank you master." She whispered, before rising to be led away. 

oOo

 

So her new life began. Well treated, fed and cared for.  
In return she was quiet, efficient and orderly. Working with diligence and grace.  
Caecilius very soon discovered what an asset his money had purchased.  
He found that she was not only quick and clever, but literate.  
When once discovering him bent over piles of orders, head in hands, she asked if she could be of assistance.  
"My wife.....she took care of all this." The sadness in his face was clear to see.  
"Where is she?" The inquiry was made gently enough, although Clara still maintained an air of detachment for the most part. An acceptance rather than subservience.  
"I lost her, two years ago. She was my love, my own." He replied, sadly.  
"I had a husband. I lost him too......your people cut him down."  
Her eyes blazed with pain and hurt at the memory.  
"I'm sorry Clara. Truly. I can't bring him back, any more than my Metella, but I can give you a roof, and a decent life of sorts, at least."  
"In my homeland I was a noblewoman, high ranked and respected, educated and refined.  
I will go through your quarry orders, if you give me the stylus, I can process and calculate, I can read and write. I will see to transactions and liaise for you. If you trust me?"  
"Gladly. I should have guessed you were high born. You hold yourself with that assured air, I would be grateful for your help." 

From that day forward, she became his right hand, helping to run his business on a day to day basis. Just as his wife had done.  
Her household duties were assigned to others.  
She was soon given a chamber in the main house, removed from the rest of the household, save for his manservant, who still dressed and attended his master daily.  
Caecilius never treated her as a servant. She was his equal.  
As the days turned to weeks, he came to admire and value her more and more. 

oOo

Late one evening after a long and tiring day, she chanced upon her master, unbeknownst to him.  
Kneeling beside his altar to his household Gods.  
A flick of scented oil from his fingers, spattering the strange carved representations of a man in a long coat, a woman in a fine dress and a rectangular temple like structure, the like of which Clara had never set eyes upon before, uttering words under his breath, before finally sinking down, shoulders shaking, a sob leaving him. He wept for several moments, as she watched surreptitiously from behind the pillar.  
Before eventually his daughter Evelina found him, and comforted her dear father as best she could.  
Clara sincerely pitied him in his loneliness, he was a good man, and kind.  
To her, at first, he represented everything she hated in her oppressors, but she soon learned to respect and esteem him.  
At least he still had his children, although now his son, Quintus, was no longer at home, being away studying.  
She was completely alone. Far from home. Everyone she ever loved either dead or taken. 

Clara saved her own weeping for when the working day was done. In the still of night.  
When her mask of carefully controlled emotion slipped.  
Sometimes it would all close in upon her, she would daydream of her home, the village where she grew up, her family, well to do, a bright future ahead of her.  
Before the fateful day of the raid, the fire and destruction. Her husband scythed down where he stood, bravely defending her and their home.  
Face buried into her pillow, to muffle her crying. Her tears hot and angry, bitter and desperate. 

Suddenly she stilled, a jolt of shock as a hand was placed gently upon her shoulder, squeezing, the feel of fingers kneading the flesh, a touch of tenderness and silent empathy.  
Sitting up, turning, wiping her eyes, she looked straight into the face of her master.  
A small oil lamp held in his other hand, perched on the edge of her bed, his lip trembling with feeling.  
"Clara! Please!" He whispered.  
She sat up.  
He drew her into him, her head resting on his chest, the lamp set aside, as both his arms encircled her. Her own wrapped around his neck, as her sobs gathered intensity.  
The warmth of his body close to her, the feel of the skin of his neck under her cheek, a hand rubbing her back in a soothing motion.  
Neither spoke, but the mutual deep loss they shared pulled them together.  
Gradually Clara calmed, cried herself out, he released her, holding her at the shoulders, at arms length.  
"Thank you master." She murmured.  
"Please don't call me that! I'm master of nothing, I do not own you. I own no man, or woman. Nor do I ever wish to."  
"You are a good man." She replied softly, laying herself down, she curled up her legs and settled to sleep.  
"Goodnight Clara." Picking up the lamp, he left her quietly and returned to his own bed. 

oOo

Evelina noticed the difference in her father. He seemed more cheerful, lighter of mood.  
She also saw the way he looked at Clara.  
The two young women always remained aloof, but now his daughter actively sought her out.  
"May I speak with you?"  
Clara raised her eyes from the work she was poring over.  
"Of course," she replied, "but I have to deal with this for your father, he has a large order from the Consulate, for statues and decor for the new Emperor's villa complex."  
"My father has been paying you much attention, he seems to value you highly." She sat down opposite, her fingers steepled together and regarded her contemporary carefully.  
"He's a kind man. I'm glad I can be of help to him, he's been very good to me. Evelina.....is there some point to this, only I really am very busy?"  
"I'm worried about my father. I think perhaps he has grown too fond of you."  
Clara laughed.  
"He's a grown man, Evelina, and I am a grown woman, if he likes me, that's his affair."  
"You are not much older than me!"she retorted angrily.  
"I am considerably older than you! But age is just a number, it is not counted in years, it is measured in experience and wisdom." She placed her stylus on the desk in front of her, and gave the young girl her full attention.  
"My brother and I are worried for him." She continued, "He loved our mother very much. He is lonely, and sad, and also vulnerable."  
"But he's been happier lately?" Clara returned.  
"Well......yes, but......."  
"If it's any consolation, your father has said nothing to me, nor made any real move towards affection. He is unfailingly kind and thoughtful, that is all. But if he did, why would you not want him to be happy? Surely that is all that matters?"  
"But my mother's memory.......?" She stammered, blushing furiously.  
"No one can replace your mother in his heart, Evelina. Least of all me. But we all need comfort sometimes, in our darkest days. Even your father."  
The young girl looked suddenly sad, she rose to leave.  
"I'm sorry Clara. I shouldn't have spoken thus. It was wrong of me. You are not a slave here, nor even a servant. You are one of us, and you are right, my father does deserve more. We were saved from certain death in Pompeii, and now we should all be allowed to live and find happiness."

oOo

Lobus Caecilius met the large Consulate order with an efficiency that earned him many plaudits and a well respected reputation.  
Much of this was down to Clara.  
At first the officials met her appearance by his side at meetings, with a barely disguised loathing.  
Their tune soon changed however, when she spoke so knowledgeably, effortlessly discussing measurements, dimensions, and the varying colours and striations of marble that were available, the different regions and quarries, from where these choices were procured. 

Reaching his home villa, he called for wine to be poured, as a celebratory toast.  
"And bring some ants in honey......." He called after the retreating servant.  
Evelina joined them. It pleased her to see her father, his eyes shining, smiling wide, she also saw his glance turn increasingly to Clara's face, questioning silently, searchingly.  
For her part, Clara kept her eyes cast down, demure, shy, a rosy glow to her cheek that was not caused by the wine.  
It wasn't until they were alone, that Lobus dared to speak.  
"Clara, you know I admire you greatly....." He began, moving closer to her, "I would be honoured if you would look favourably upon me." His eyes were moist, voice full of emotion, "I realise I'm not young any more, and not worthy of you, but......."  
Before he could finish, Clara closed the remaining space between them, standing very close, facing him, looking up into his face, a smile playing on her lips.  
She reached up, placing her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to her level, guiding his mouth to touch her own.  
Their kiss was tender, sweet and warm. His eyes closed as he sunk into her, pulling her to him, surrounding her, fear and apprehension melting away, as they remained thus joined.  
Easing apart after some moments, Clara stroked his face, her fingers ghosting over his cheek, touching his lower lip, down to his chin.  
"Oh, but you are so handsome! And such a dear man! How could I not fall in love with you!" 

 

Caecilius scooped her up into his arms, and carried her to his chamber. She lay back, reaching for him, bringing him down with her, such a little thing, so slight and delicate, yet so strong and indomitable.  
Their kisses turned more tender, searching, exploring. His fingers questing, fumbling under the silk fabric of her robe, teasing and delighting her with every touch.  
"Forgive me Clara, it's been a long time since I've been intimate, I'm out of practice."  
Her reply was a gentle, "shhhhh!" as she moved her small hand up under the gold weave of his toga, feeling the flesh of his bare thighs, moving between them to stroke his manhood as it hardened.  
He gasped at the forgotten sensation, jerking his hips forwards into her caress.  
"Take off your robes, let me see you." She whispered.  
He obeyed shyly, removing first his necklace then his overdress, leaving just his metal wrist braces.  
Clara kissed her way down his body, her hands moving along the length of his arms and across his chest, reaching down between his legs. His trembling fingers unlaced her costume in turn, and it fell away, revealing her breasts, her stomach, her smooth ivory skin enticing him.  
"Gods, you are so beautiful!" He murmured, his mouth sliding down her neck, "you are a goddess!  
That I should see you like this! That you would deign to love a man like me! Why Clara? Why?"  
"Because you are wonderful. I've grown to love you over these months. I want to lie with you, I want to feel you, for you to touch me and pleasure me. You have the power to bring me to heights I've never reached before, with any other man, you have experience, warmth, passion.  
I wish for you to share that with me. Right now."  
She parted her legs, allowing him to enter her, moving slowly within her, building the fire in her stomach which coursed through her. As a lover he was so considerate, his intensity rising as he neared his release. She peaked just before him, lifting herself to force him deeper, whispering words of love and desire which pushed him over the edge in her wake.  
"Oh Clara!" He cried, "I have found such happiness with you, such love, so unlooked for, so unexpected. Am I a fool to feel this way?"  
"Only if I am foolish too!" She replied, placing soft kisses against his face, his lips, his neck.  
"My dear one. I wish you had not been snatched away from all you loved. Had I been given the power to prevent that I would surely have wielded it. Even though it would mean I'd never meet you. I wish with all my heart I could bring you home."  
She held him fast, still buried inside her, she kissed him once more with great tenderness.  
"I am home!" She whispered softly. 

Fin.


End file.
